


Claws

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 14:06:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11487930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Thranduil has a talk with a trespasser.





	Claws

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aprilreign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aprilreign/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for aprilriegn’s “[Bear] Beorn and Thranduil are at odds about someting that is very important to to the skin changer. Thranduil makes an offer he's really not quite sure about. but it is a win-win for both of them XD. M or E rating” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/162565904960/prompt-list-3). (Again modified and only the first half because that’s long/detailed and I don’t even know the fairytale canon.)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The skin-changer is welcoming enough, in that he opens his door and ushers Thranduil inside, and he sets about making tea while Thranduil lounges at his enormous table. Thranduil has his guards wait outside, because he has the feeling that this is going to be _difficult_ , and his methods aren’t always ones that should be broadcasted. He isn’t sure yet which way this will go, except that it will _go_ ; he doesn’t accept the impasse where they currently stand. While the oversized kettle boils, Beorn turns his back to the sink.

With Thranduil seated, Beorn’s height is only magnified, but Thranduil’s never been intimidated by such things. He isn’t disturbed by Beorn’s girth, by the thickness of his muscles, by the fact that his shirtless chest seems to be just one taut set of them—no fat anywhere on his massive body. His mane is more _animal_ than anything, longer than a Man’s and more ragged than an elf’s. His face is the brooding sort, and it’s worn a frown, possibly a glare, since Thranduil first arrived. But Thranduil can glare with the best of them, and he only returns the level stare.

“What’ve you come for?” Beorn finally growls, because all Thranduil said at the front was: _we have much to discuss._

Beorn had been holding an axe then, out chopping wood, and Thranduil had hoped to not have to draw his sword. He’s come in full armour anyway at the urging of his guards. His cloak is draped down his back, his legs folded, his hands clasped on the table. He explains slowly, “I have been receiving a number of troubling reports lately. Ones of my people being chased... by a bear.” Beorn says nothing, but Thranduil hadn’t expected an immediate confession. He adds dryly, “A particularly large one at that, that chased no animals, only my kind.”

“Your kind don’t run very fast,” Beorn rumbles, though none of Thranduil’s people were caught. If they had been, and any harm were inflected upon them, this would be a _very_ different meeting. Beorn gives no explanation of just what he would do if he were to catch any, just mutters, “But they are the ones roaming my lands.”

“ _My_ lands,” Thranduil icily corrects, “And many reported these incidents inside my very woods. I do not appreciate such base behaviour in my realm.” 

Beorn grunts a noise that might be a laugh; it’s hard to tell with how deep and growling his voice is. He hisses, “Elves have grown too uptight; you could learn to embrace your base instincts a little more.”

Thranduil actually snorts, only for Beorn to add, “Or perhaps you’re too fragile for that.”

Immediately, Thranduil stiffens. Beorn gives him a deliberately sweeping look, as though he’s no threat at all, just a delicate doll waiting on some tea. Thranduil’s armour doesn’t seem to faze him at all. The kettle clicks off—Beorn turns to attend to it. 

With his back to Thranduil, Beorn mutters, “Otherwise, we might’ve been able to work something out. I like ‘your’ woods. ...And I have things I might offer, if I felt any of you could handle them.”

Thranduil waits for Beorn to elaborate, but he doesn’t, just brings around a wide cup of boiling tea. Thranduil immediately takes it in his hands, ignoring the searing heat, and takes a burning sip. He can feel his throat shifting to accept it, his face rippling through the signs of _fire_. Beorn’s eyes widen a little around the edges, and Thranduil stares at him dangerously. 

After a long gulp, Thranduil sets the cup down again, drawling, “If you swear fealty to me, we can end this right now.”

Beorn immediately answers, “I don’t bow to anyone.”

“Then what exactly were you going to offer?”

Beorn takes the other seat. Somehow, it accentuates the difference more; even sitting, he’s a giant. He leans forward over the table, his shadow drawing along Thranduil’s hands, and he growls deep in his throat, “I could make you _scream_.”

Thranduil’s brow lifts.

Beorn tilts his face, bears his sharp teeth, and hisses, “I could show you _base_ desires you haven’t felt in centuries, if you ever did. I could strip away all those fancy clothes, rip that crown right off your head, pull your hair and make you _ache_ for me. You think your woods are too proper for me, Elf? I could push you down into the dirt and make you _beg_ to be sullied. I could even push you over this table right now, bend you down against the hard surface, strip down those tights and spread your pretty cheeks. I can already see in your eyes that you wonder how _big_ I am in other places. Well, I’m huge enough to make you cry when I come in you, and after that, you’d plead with me to visit your woods, because no other would be able to fill you the way I did.”

Thranduil _stares_.

His cheeks feel hotter than they did drinking the tea. He’s not sure if it’s from embarrassment or rage. Beorn leans back again, suddenly casual, licks his lips and says, “ _That_ is what I offer, Elf. I won’t swear fealty to anyone, but I could manage other unions. I plan to visit those woods when I like anyway; it’s just a matter of what I’m there for.”

Thranduil, for once in his life, doesn’t know what to say. So he mutters tightly, “I will think on it,” and swiftly rises from the table. He leaves before any more can be said, before his head can be filled with any more filth, and before he actually starts _considering_ such vulgarities.

But he only half wishes he hadn’t found the bear at all.


End file.
